


One Hundred Ways To Say I Love You

by scientificapricot



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, F/M, Feelings, Fluff, I'll add necessary tags as fics are added, Pining, T for swearing, prompt fics, s3 fic, s5 fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-29
Updated: 2020-10-19
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:28:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23914579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scientificapricot/pseuds/scientificapricot
Summary: Collection of short fics, using a prompt list of the same name, because I can't get enough of these two. All canon compliant, either missing scenes or future fics. Find the prompt list at https://scientificapricot.tumblr.com/post/615390962297012224/one-hundred-ways-to-say-i-love-you
Relationships: Captain Hook | Killian Jones/Emma Swan
Comments: 66
Kudos: 91





	1. Driving

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Pull over. Let me drive for a while.
> 
> Set during 3x22, with Emma and Killian on their way back to the Dark One's castle after watching Snow and Charming part ways.

Emma grimaced as the wooden wagon jostled about, the wheels dipping into yet another pothole in the road. Who knew the Enchanted Forest had potholes? She couldn’t imagine it was that difficult to fill them in, with the road being, you know, _dirt_ , but, as she had discovered over the past few days, there was a lot she didn’t know about her homeland.

She shifted uncomfortably on the bench seat, the rough material of her prison dress irritating her legs, and sighed. With any luck, they’d soon be back in Storybrooke, and she’d be back in her soft sweater and favorite pair of jeans.

“You alright there, Swan?”

She glanced next to her at Killian, his face in close proximity to her own given that they were sharing the driver’s seat of the wagon. She couldn’t help but notice the patterns in his blue irises, thin streaks of gold woven throughout. Catching herself before he detected her staring, Emma settled her features into what she hoped was a smile. “Yeah, I’m good. Just anxious to get back.”

He nodded knowingly, adjusting his grip on the reins. “I must say, for all the oddities of your realm, your cars are very much preferable to wagons and carriages.” He hesitated as he spoke, his accent wrapping unsurely around the foreign word. 

“Not gonna argue with that,” she said, and this time the smile came naturally. “Though here it’s easier to appreciate the view.”

As soon as the words left her mouth, she realized the trap she had fallen into, and Killian did not disappoint.

“Indeed, the view is _quite_ appealing from where I sit.” His eyebrows danced playfully over his brow as he smirked at her, throwing in a wink for good measure.

Emma failed at holding back a laugh, and gave him a light shove, muttering a half-hearted _shut up_. 

He just grinned back.

They lapsed into silence after that, allowing the bird calls and footsteps of the horses and the creaking of the forest to substitute any conversation, and Emma found herself musing on how _easy_ it was, to just _be_ with him, with no expectations of forced interaction or words to fill the quiet. She realized how much she had taken it for granted, his presence, and his willingness to let her dictate the pace of their friendship. Because that’s what it was, right? A friendship? Despite their attraction to each other (which she long ago gave up denying to herself), neither of them had made any moves to carry things further than their kiss in Neverland. (Not counting what happened when he found her in New York—that had to have been a fluke, right?) But they weren’t simply allies anymore either. It seemed too small a word for what was built between them, and Emma realized she rather liked calling Killian that. Her friend. 

_But you’d like more, wouldn’t you?_ her subconscious whispered. She ignored it as the truth of the words panged through her. 

She needed a distraction. 

“How much longer do you think it’ll take to get back to Rumplestiltskin’s castle?”

Killian frowned, glancing up at the thin tree tops to where the sun poked through. “A few more hours. Three most likely, if the road stays clear and the weather fair.”

She nodded her acknowledgement, glancing behind her into the back of the wagon at their unwilling companion.

“She’s not yet awake?” he asked.

“No,” Emma said, wincing. “I think I hit her a bit harder than I meant to.”

“Her breathing was even last I checked, Swan, she should be fine once she comes to.” 

“Right,” she replied, grateful for the reassurance he offered, and how he knew that she’d needed it. She supposed that was just another mark of their friendship. 

_Sure, that’s what it is_ , the voice in her head muttered sarcastically.

Silence fell over them once more, and Emma was soon lost in thoughts of Henry, excited to tell him about their adventures, knowing he’d be a captive audience. This time, it was Killian who broke the quiet, with a jaw-cracking yawn that he tried and failed to conceal. 

She felt a pang of sympathy for him. Neither of them had gotten much sleep the night before, for she had heard him rustling about on his blanket as she’d tried to relax on hers. It had been a long and tense couple of days, what with the whole threat of her being wiped from existence and changing everyone’s future, and she knew that his ordeal with Zelena had intruded on his ability to rest while they’d still been in Storybrooke. 

Emma snuck a glance at him, this time not only focusing on his blue eyes but on the dark bruising beneath them. She felt a similar exhaustion, but she was so wired and excited to finally get out of the past that it didn’t weigh on her so heavily.

The weary, involuntary slump of his shoulders helped make her decision.

“Hey, pull over. Let me drive for a while.”

He looked at her a bit confused, as though he hadn’t entirely caught what she’d said. “What?”

“Let’s switch places. I’ll take the reins, and you can just… relax. Try and get some rest.”

Killian straightened in his seat, his response sounding like a rehearsed mantra. “I’m fine.”

Emma resisted the urge to roll her eyes, aware that she likely would have said the exact same thing were their positions reversed. “I know you’re fine, but you’re also tired. I’m not, and like you said, we’ve still got a few more hours of travel. You might as well take advantage of it.”

He stared ahead, seemingly struggling with himself. She understood his reluctance; it was hard for both of them to show weakness. But she also wasn’t letting it go.

She laid her hand on his arm, just at the crook of his elbow, the smooth fabric of his coat and the warmth radiating from it sending a tingling up through her fingers. “Killian,” she said quietly.

He met her gaze, and for a moment she swore she saw what looked like fear in his eyes ( _fear of hurt, of giving too much of yourself only for the other person to toss it right back at your feet and leave you in the dust_ ). But it was quickly replaced by trust, trust that caused her breath to stutter a bit and her heart to ache at its completeness. He nodded once, and pulled back gently on the reins, coaxing the horses to a stop with a low _whoa, easy there_. 

They descended from the wagon, passing around the front to switch places. As they sat back down again, Killian’s leg brushed against her own, and strangely she found herself missing the contact as he shifted his position.

“Thank you, Swan,” he said simply, the soft-spoken words wrapping around her and settling somewhere deep in her chest.

“Of course.” For once, she hoped her voice could convey as many unspoken secrets as his. The small smile on his face after her reply had her thinking it did.

He gave her a quick run through of how to use the reins and have the horses stop and go, and soon enough they were back on their way. Though he’d already thanked her, Emma was pretty sure the best form of gratitude came from his peaceful expression as he dozed, and she relaxed a bit more in turn.

Soon, they’d be home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Most of the others probably won't be this long- I meant for this to be a drabble and got carried away lol. They will likely also be out of the order of the list, because I'm just picking whatever ones strike my fancy.
> 
> Thanks for reading! :)


	2. Reminder

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2\. It reminded me of you.
> 
> Takes place the night of Killian's return in 5x21. Could be called angst, but I'd say it's more like emotional healing.

They took their time on the walk home, leaving the neon lights and mourning crowd at Granny’s behind. Emma kept a firm grip on Killian’s hand, grounded by the metal of his rings and the calluses on his palm. His thumb stroked over her skin, and he took a few deep breaths, inhaling the fresh, rain-scented air. The sound of it, of his breathing _ ,  _ was music to her ears, a quiet and familiar song that she had desperately missed.

When the tall blue house was in front of them, they stopped, staring at it. A shadow fell over Killian’s gaze, the same one that lingered in the back of her mind. He licked his lips, a sign of nervousness, she knew, and turned to face her, speaking hesitantly.

“Should I-”

“Come in with me.” She hadn’t even thought this far ahead, to night and sleep, but her voice was steady, because she knew in this moment that they belonged nowhere else but at each other’s side.

He searched her face, a slight wrinkle to his brow, the product of their past times in the house. “You’re sure, love?” 

Emma reached up, cradling his neck so that her fingers brushed over his dark hair and her thumb tapped at his ear. “Please, stay,” she whispered.

Killian answered her with a press of his lips on her forehead as his hook came to sit at her waist, his voice stronger and surer this time and just a bit broken. “Always.”

She lead him up the white steps and through the door, and then, after they removed their jackets and boots, up the stairs to the main bedroom. Her body trembled slightly at the memories brought forth, a tremble echoed in his hold on her hand, but together, she thought, they could be brave enough to replace them with newer, better ones.

He didn’t notice it immediately, as his eyes were busy cataloging the corners and facets of the new room, his first time stepping foot in there. Emma felt him pause as his gaze landed on the coat, the great leather duster twisted in with the sheets of the bed. 

His hand tightened around her own, the warmth of his skin and the pulse she felt at his wrist comforting her as much as his touch. (She knew that she’d have to release the appendage at some point, but it seemed like a preposterous idea when he’d only been back for a few hours.)

“It reminded me of you,” she whispered as she too stared at Killian’s old pirate coat, her voice cracking as she remembered the past few sleepless nights, when she allowed herself to grieve him unrestrained (the  _ love _ of her  _ life _ ), when she summoned it to her side because she  _ needed _ him and the coat had been so intricately woven into his identity, his scent woven into the fibers, that it was the next best thing. 

_ (That’s a lie. How could there be a next best thing when he was one of the best things to ever happen to her?) _

Her strength left her then, and she clung to Killian in a tight embrace that he returned with equal force, and to an outsider it might have looked like they were trying to meld their bodies together into one. A sob built in Emma’s throat as her emotions mixed and spilled over, and she let them, for in that house, in that room, in his arms, she didn’t have to do anything else.

She cried, and he soon joined her, their tears anointing the second chance, the  _ miracle _ that they’d been granted, until both their eyes were red and swollen and their voices rather hoarse. 

Emma pulled away just enough to wipe at his lingering tears with the pads of her thumbs, and he leaned against her, exhausted and heavy with the events of the day, but also lighter, his breath coming freer and his shoulders no longer tense. 

“You ready to make good on your promise to sleep, Swan?” Killian asked, his voice low and resonating with relief and gentle teasing. 

She laid a kiss to where the opening of his shirt exposed his collarbone, and followed him as he lead her over to the bed. “You’ve no idea.”


	3. Treat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 3\. No, no, it's my treat.
> 
> Set between 3x12 and 3x13.

Shutting the door to her parent’s apartment, with plans made to reconvene at Granny’s in a half hour, Emma headed down the stairs. She paused before leaving the building, the familiar sight of the green door and it’s big silver handle, shiny with use, catching her gaze. How many times had she come and gone from this building, from her parent’s home? More than she cared to count, and now here was one more trip to add to it. When she drove across the town line last year, she thought she’d never see it again. 

But here she was.

It washed over her then, the reality that she was _back_ _,_ she was in _Storybrooke_ _._ Her parents were back, Hook was back, the town was back. _She was back._ Emma felt lightheaded with the weight of everything, and took a moment to lean back against the cool brick wall. She focused on deep breaths, in and out, as her mind caught up with the events of the day. 

It wasn’t quite the reunion she would have imagined, if she’d had time to imagine one at all before escaping Pan’s curse. There certainly wouldn’t have been missing memories, or a clueless Henry, or yet another crisis to solve. Or a pirate showing up at her apartment. She definitely would not have imagined that.

A chime from the clocktower pulled her from her thoughts, and she straightened up. She’d have to shelve her feelings for later. Henry still needed to be woken, rooms paid for at Granny’s, a debriefing with her parents … maybe even “later” would have to wait.

Emma adjusted her jacket and continued on, back to her car. She could see Henry still sleeping in the backseat. Hook was exactly where she’d left him, leaning against the driver-side window and staring up at the stars. He turned to her as she approached, and she had to stop her breath from catching as she met his eyes. She’d forgotten the intensity of his gaze, the brightness of the blue in his irises. (Once her memories had returned, she couldn’t shake the feeling of having missed it.)

“How did it go, Swan? Are they alright?” 

“Yeah, they’re fine. They have their memories, just not of the past year.” 

“The past year?” A look of alarm flashed across his face.

Emma sighed. “The last thing they remember is me driving away with Henry and Pan’s curse approaching.”

“Bloody hell.” He frowned. “That complicates things a bit.”

“A lot,” Emma said, running a hand through her hair. “They’re meeting us at Granny’s soon to figure out what we do know about this curse, but first I’ve got to get a room there and get Henry to bed.” She moved to open the door and wake Henry up. “Could you get our bags out of the trunk?”

“Aye,” he nodded.

They made short work of getting both Henry and the luggage out of the car, and Emma explained to him that they’d be staying at the bed and breakfast for the duration of their trip.

“Where are you staying, Killian?” Henry asked, following them across the empty street.

Emma fully expected Hook to respond with something about his ship, and so was surprised by his answer.

“I’ll be renting a room here as well, lad.” Hook shook his head ever so slightly at Emma’s inquiring and slightly incredulous expression, but he couldn’t seem to meet her eyes as they walked into Granny’s.

Damn. She’d have to get answers from him when Henry wasn’t around.

Henry had that look on his face, the one that said he wasn’t done asking questions, and Hook must have seen it too, for he asked, “If your mother’s amenable to it, how about we get you some hot chocolate to settle you in?” He raised an eyebrow in question at Emma.

She blinked, a bit taken aback, and yet touched at the same time, that Hook remembered her son’s favorite drink, and reached for her wallet. “Yeah, sure, just let me get some money-”

Hook briefly laid his hand on her own, stopping her. “No, no, it’s my treat.”

A small spark of electricity passed between them, and she felt the warmth of his skin even after he moved away towards the counter. “Thanks,” she managed to breathe out.

He smiled at her as he discreetly passed a small gold coin to Granny (Henry was too busy taking in the rest of the diner to notice). A pleasant swooping sensation passed through Emma’s stomach, and, in spite of everything, she couldn’t help the small smile that formed on her face in return.

“Meet you in the lobby?” she asked, gesturing to the hallway that led to the inn.

“Aye, Swan.”

She was just finishing up arranging their rooms with Ruby when he joined them, carrying two to-go cups in a cardboard tray. He handed the first one off to Henry, responding to the boy’s thanks with, “My pleasure, lad,” and offered the second to Emma. 

“Oh, you didn’t have to-”

“I know, love. Just thought you might want some too,” he shrugged.

She _did_ want some. It had been a while since they ate dinner, and some sugar would probably help her stay awake long enough to sort things out with her parents and plan for tomorrow. It was just surprising that Hook had picked up on that. Or... was it really? Hadn’t he said on the beanstalk that she was an open book?

Emma decided she was too tired to analyze it, and gratefully took the hot chocolate. “Thanks, Killian.”

The smile he’d given her before was nothing compared to the one on his face now, all soft in the dimmed lights of Granny’s, the curve of his lips accompanied by a slight tilt of his head. Surely he’d never smiled at her like that before, right? She definitely would have remembered it.

Footsteps down the hallway of the ground floor broke them out of their trance, as did Henry’s yawn, and Emma took a couple of steps back. “I’ll meet you back down here in a few minutes?”

“I’ll be here.” There it was again. That smile.

Her own lingered on her lips when she tasted cinnamon in her drink.


	4. Fix

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 4\. Come here. Let me fix it.
> 
> Happens after 3x17 ends, in Killian's room at Granny's later that night. Prepare thyself for angst and E m o t i o n. Special thanks goes out to Devra (@ohmightydevviepuu on Tumblr, devviepuu here) for looking this over and helping me dig deeper. <3
> 
> T for swearing.

The straps keeping his hook secured to his arm and shoulder were tangled, unequivocally so, the knots only pulling tighter the more he tried to free them. 

He tugged and twisted, but the worst of the mess sat just out of his reach, below his shoulder blade on his back.

Of course it did.

_Bloody fucking hell._

It was a fitting end to the day. As if getting himself manipulated and cursed by Zelena wasn’t bad enough.

Killian slammed the blunt edge of his hook against the dresser in an overflow of desperate anger, wishing he could demolish the entire thing. Maybe then he’d feel better.

His experiences told him probably not.

Besides, it wasn’t the dresser that got him into this mess. No, he had no one to thank for that but himself, and his reckless selfishness.

He leaned against the aged wooden furniture, gripping the edges so tight that his fingers hurt, burying his face in the crook of his left elbow where it rested on top. Breathing hard through his nose, he tried to calm the swell of rage and self-hatred that threatened to drown him. He’d never get the straps fixed in a state like this, let alone his cursed lips.

Something else he knew from experience.

The chill air in his room at Granny’s sent goosebumps rising over his bare torso, and he welcomed it, feeling the fire and frustration slowly die down. Allowing his emotions to consume him would not accomplish anything, but alas, old habits die hard. His hold on the dresser relaxed. He’d start researching ways to break his curse first thing tomorrow. Tonight, he just needed to sort out the-

_Knock knock knock._

He tensed at the sound and glanced to where his sword sat on the bed, wary of unexpected visitors at this time of night. Could it be the damned witch, ready to impart some other hell on him?

She probably wouldn’t bother with knocking, he reasoned, and marginally relaxed. Thankful that he hadn’t yet removed his trousers, he shrugged into his thin black shirt, foregoing the buttons before answering the door.

Killian was _not_ expecting Emma Swan to be on the other side.

His heartbeat sped up, pounding out fear and longing and an uncontrollable thrill of joy.

Her brows raised as she took in his state of undress, eyes roaming over his stomach and chest, and gods he didn’t even have enough energy to make a quip about it. This time she might respond, might return it with a flirty smile instead of an eye roll, and he would not lead her on when his very presence put her in danger.

Damn Zelena, and damn himself for having to retreat just as Swan was cracking open her walls.

It then hit him, why she might have come to his room so late in the evening, and fear flashed through his chest, wondering about the safety of her parents and her boy. Bile rose in his throat at the thought of Henry in Zelena’s clutches. Henry, with his spitfire nature, his thirst for knowledge, his mother’s perceptiveness, his bright eyes that echoed Bae’s...

“Swan, is everything alright?” He hoped she couldn’t detect the strain in his voice. Images flashed through his mind of all the ways Zelena could hurt them thanks to him, because of him. It would be all his fault.

Emma’s gaze jumped up to meet his, a faint blush blooming on her cheeks. “Wha- yeah, sorry, everything’s fine.” 

It was hard to not visibly sag in relief knowing her family was still unharmed.

She shoved her hands into her back pockets and straightened her shoulders. “We made plans to meet down in the diner tomorrow morning, around eight o’clock. I just thought you should know.”

Touched as he was that she was making a point to include him in their plans (gods, it meant more to him than he could afford to feel at the moment), he resisted the urge to step back, to put some distance between them, between his lips and hers. “Aye, thank you.” He could not fight it any longer, and looked at the floor as he moved away. The earnestness and concern in her green gaze was too much, and he hated that his behavior was causing the pinch in her brow. “I suppose I’ll see you tomorrow then,” he said, already turning from her.

He swallowed hard.

He wished he could act on the happiness that sang within him in her presence.

Emma Swan, here, at his door, offering her friendship, a chance to plant a future, and all he could do was toss away the seed.

The disappointment on her face drove daggers into his heart. “Okay, well- wait, what happened there?” She took a few steps toward him, which he matched in turn by backing away, until they were both standing in the middle of his room.

Killian followed her gaze to his shoulder, where the tangled knots stuck out as a small lump under his shirt, and cursed internally. “Oh, that. Made a bit of a mess of the straps. Nothing I can’t sort out,” he answered, trying for nonchalance.

“Looks like you tied it up good,” she said, and hesitated as though unsure of how he’d react to her next words. “Do you… do you want any help?”

“No need to bother, Swan, I can handle it.” Utilizing a lot more patience this time, he thought. (And bloody hell, when was the last time someone offered him any sort of help that didn’t come with personal gain? For that matter, when was the last time he’d _asked_ for help?) He took two more steps away from her, until the back of his knees hit the bed.

Emma frowned at his closed-off demeanor. He made the mistake of meeting her eyes, and instead of the hurt and anger he expected to glimpse, he saw only concern. His earlier frustration threatened to return. Once again looking at the floor, he clenched his jaw.

_Don’t, Swan. I’m not worth it._

When she spoke, her voice was uncharacteristically soft, and it wrapped around his heart like a warm ocean breeze. “You know, being a part of something means you don’t have to deal with things alone.”

His breath hitched.

He used to think he was good at being alone. He’d chosen it, resigned himself to it, weathered it, time and again, for so very long. 

This day had been one of the loneliest in his life. 

He didn’t want to be alone any longer, and he was fairly certain neither did she. 

“Killian, come here. Let me fix it.”

He lacked the strength to keep rejecting her kindness, weak bastard that he was. “Alright,” he said, just above a whisper, and quietly slipped his arms out of his shirt as she pushed the door until it was almost closed.

Emma approached him slowly, the soft skin of her fingers gently pushing against his rigid stance so she could see the tangled leather. It felt like a dream, her initiating contact with him. He hoped she couldn’t detect the involuntary shiver that went through him at her touch, and tried to relax as he turned his head and watched her carefully pull at the straps. As she unwound the loops and unhooked stuck buckles, her gaze kept returning to his, as if she could just as easily unravel the mystery of his behavior by reading his face. 

_I don’t know what’s going on with you but I’m here if you need me._

_You’ve no idea how much I wish I could tell you, love, even if it would cast me from your favor forever._

The silence between them was thick, not quite comfortable and yet not unbearable. It amplified every brush of her skin against his, the sound of their breathing, the freckles he could count on her nose. Killian felt a wave of self-consciousness rush over him as he remembered the multitude of scars covering his torso, especially the long lashes on his back. He didn’t mind sharing his tattoos, but the scars… they weren’t pretty, their tales less so. Thankfully, Emma didn’t mention them.

He loathed the thought of their interactions now being marked by silence.

“I’m sorry I missed the dinner this evening, love,” he said, for he truly was, and even more sorry that he had turned down an invitation from her. 

_I’m sorry I couldn’t make the right choice. I’m sorry I let my pain blind me. I’m sorry I’ve been turned into a weapon against you. I’m sorry I’m pulling away._

Emma’s hands stilled against him as she finished her task, the leather straps now hanging loose and free from his shoulder. “It’s okay.” She gave him a small smile, once again offering a candle in the darkness, a flame he would gladly burn in. “There will be others.”

“Aye,” he breathed out, afraid that if he said any more that the whole sorry tale of Ariel and his ship and cursed lips might spill out of him.

She looked at him a moment longer, searching for answers he couldn’t risk giving (not at the cost of her family’s lives, of her boy’s life), and then turned to go. Killian followed her to the door, unable to quash the habits of good form.

“Thank you for the assistance, Swan.”

“Anytime.” She tilted her head, and oh what he wouldn’t have given for her to look at him like that a year ago. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.” He watched her walk away until she turned out of sight down the hall. Closing the door, he sighed heavily, leaning his forehead against the wood.

Tomorrow. 

Tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow.

Tomorrow he’d find a way to break his curse, to fix things, because if there was one thing that hurt more than losing Emma Swan, it was losing her by his own hand.

She was finally ready for him, and he’d be damned before he left her there alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I say these were going to be super short? Under a thousand words? Hah, that's hilarious lol.


	5. Half

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 11\. You can have half.
> 
> This one takes place before the coconut scene in 3x03. Enjoy!

There were many aspects of Neverland, the real Neverland, that Emma wasn’t expecting. Murderous teenagers. Constant night. A human-sized Tinkerbell. A Captain Hook that was pretty shitty at being a villain. 

Poisonous plants, to add another item to the list.

Said poisonous plants included some of the fruit, of course, which meant that none of their group could forage for food yet without Hook’s assistance. 

Emma vowed to never complain about going to the grocery store again. 

After Regina and Tink made their peace, and the group was hiking back to their makeshift camp, they entertained the idea of searching the area for signs of Henry, but Hook and Tink were quick to point out the fast-approaching night. It didn’t look much different than the days to Emma, but she knew she’d have to take their word for it. 

They divided up tasks for the evening, agreeing to go out in pairs for safety. Regina and Tink left to collect fresh water. Mary Margaret and David searched the surrounding jungle for firewood. Which left Emma to forage for food with Hook. 

They’d brought rations with them from the ship, hard biscuits and dried meat, but needed to supplement it with fresh food from the island if they wanted to avoid repeat trips back to the Jolly. Trips that would only detract from time spent looking for Henry. 

Emma found working with Hook to be surprisingly easy _._ She followed him through the dense foliage of the jungle, watching the sway of his leather coat as he walked. They stopped frequently, gathering coconuts and orange, oval-shaped fruits that looked a bit like mangoes but tasted more like pomegranates. Hook pointed out the varieties to avoid, stopping her on more than one occasion from reaching for poisonous berries. 

“I’m guessing you learned some of this by experience?” Emma asked as she skirted around a broad-leafed plant that secreted a particularly nasty toxin from it’s leaves. 

“Aye, unfortunately.” Hook’s eyes darkened as they stepped into a clearing where the ground was littered with coconuts. “It was take our chances with the treacherous nature of the island, that infects even the food that grows here, or eventual death by starvation and scurvy. The weekly foraging parties were of a particular dread to my crew, until I met Tink and she shared her knowledge with us.”

Emma winced in sympathy, remembering nights spent searching dumpsters in dirty alleys, a runaway teen trying to find something even mildly edible amongst the rotten fare. Hunger undoubtedly had a way of bringing out desperation. 

Hook glanced at her. “You’re picking it all up quite quickly, I must say, Swan.”

The praise washed over her, and she tried to shrug it off. “If we get separated from you or Tink, we’re gonna have to know how to feed ourselves without dying.”

He nodded in agreement, a small smirk of approval turning his mouth up at the corner. “Smart thinking. You have a survivor’s instinct.”

“I’m guessing you know something about that?”

“I’ve stayed alive this long, haven’t I?” 

Emma tilted her head in his direction in acknowledgement. 

He was quiet for a moment after that, and she saw him pause out of the corner of her eye. 

His voice was lower and possibly more serious than she’d ever heard him before when he next spoke. “Swan, I know this probably isn’t enough to convince you, but I want you to know that you don’t have to worry about me leaving the rest of you. I’m not going to abandon you on this island.”

Emma froze. Her heartbeat sped up, because _goddamnit how did he know?_ She wanted to look at him, wanted to see the truth in his eyes—if there was truth in his eyes—but she couldn’t. She couldn’t. He’d see everything in _her_ eyes. He clearly saw enough already. 

She swallowed hard. 

_I’m not going to abandon you. Like you did to me._

He didn’t say it, but was he thinking it?

She wished she was as good at reading him as he was at reading her. She still stood by her choice that day, but that didn’t mean she didn’t feel bad about it. The guilt that had settled in her gut when she left him at the top of the beanstalk was still there, a heavy reminder. Did he carry that same weight, only instead as resentment?

Because if he resented her for it, it would definitely make him more inclined to leave this hellscape and this impossible mission. 

Right?

She wished she could read him, but it was hard to read someone without even looking at them. 

“When I start something I see it through to the end. I won’t leave you and your family to your own devices.”

Emma really wanted to believe him.

Maybe she already did.

She tentatively raised her gaze, not quite able to make it all the way to his face, instead settling on his hook. “I hope not.” 

It was all she could give him in that moment, and annoyingly she found herself hoping that he would deduce what she wasn’t saying. 

She didn’t know if he did, as she was still staring intently at his hook where it rested against the hilt of his sword. 

“I still think it’s a good idea for me to know how to find food here.”

His answering chuckle sounded a bit frustrated, but just a bit. Mostly it just sounded nice. 

“On that, we are in agreement, love.”

Emma wondered if he’d ever stop surprising her. 

Part of her hoped so. 

A larger part hoped not. 

She focused on brushing some dirt off of a fallen coconut, glancing up when she heard Hook’s footsteps moving away from her. He was bent over at the far side of the clearing, reaching into an alcove of sorts formed by the toxic berry shrubs.

“What’s over there?” 

“I think—bloody hell…”

“Hook?”

He stood up, another specimen of Neverland fruit clutched in his palm, staring at it in something like awe as he stepped back to her. “This, Swan, is something I haven’t seen in a long time.”

Emma frowned. It didn’t look particularly special, or particularly dangerous for that matter, aside from its vibrant blue hue, the kind rarely found in the natural world. Stuffing her coconut into her bag, she peered at his prize, and asked with a skeptical chuckle, “Is it magical or something?”

“In a way.”

“Wait, seriously?” 

“It’s leftover from the time before Pan, when the island ran only on the dreams of children and not as a prison for them.” Hook turned it over in his palm, examining the surface for bruises and rot. “The last time I saw this particular fruit must have been decades, perhaps a century ago, well before I left the island for good. It doesn’t quite belong here anymore, not with how Pan has warped and twisted the magic of Neverland. It’s... a quiet rebellion against him, if you like. And Pan knew that, so he had the Lost Boys dig up and burn all of it that they could find.

“Clearly they missed one,” Emma said. “But why did he want to get rid of it?”

“Because it gives whoever eats it a night of the most peaceful, restful sleep, something rarely afforded to anyone on the island by Pan’s intentional design. It’s not a poison, nor a sedative. You can easily wake if you need to, and you wake feeling thoroughly refreshed, unlike the morning after a sleeping draught or a bottle or two of rum.” The tips of his ears turned red in a slight flush, but Emma didn’t judge. She’d had her fair share of wicked hangovers. 

“Have you had it before?”

“Indeed, but only once. Tink had a private stash and was kind enough to share it. It was rather dire circumstances, which is why it was the one time I was privy to its effects. It was… well, it was wonderful.”

Emma wondered about the dire circumstances he alluded to, but felt certain that he wasn’t in the mood for sharing. She glanced up from the blue fruit, meeting the same color in his gaze. He smiled, a softness to the edge of his mouth that tempted her to lean in to better examine it even as it met her walls. So distracted was she that she didn’t notice his hook coming up and slicing the fruit down the middle where it sat in his hand, a purplish juice dripping to the leaf-strewn ground. 

“You can have half,” he said, holding the pieces out to her. 

She frowned, taking a step back. “No, I’m fine Hook. I mean, thanks, but that’s okay, you’re the one who found it, and I don’t need it—“

He raised a brow. “Oh? And how have you been sleeping?”

Her shoulders tensed, the muscles echoing recent nights of tossing and turning as she listened for Henry’s voice amongst the sobs of the Lost Boys. _“Fine._ For camping out in the jungle, at least,” she said, crossing her arms. 

“Swan. The truth.”

She glared at him. 

He sighed, speaking quietly. “I can hear them, love, crying through the night. And because you and I are not that different, I’d wager you can too.” 

Emma clenched her jaw.

_They all share the same look in their eyes._

Hook stared steadily at her, daring her to lie to him again. 

_The look you get when you’ve been left alone._

It was her turn to sigh as the sleepless nights pressed down on her, amplifying her fear for Henry and the insidious, creeping feeling of helplessness in the face of a demon boy playing his wicked games. She knew she couldn’t hide the bags under her eyes or the occasional stumble in her steps when her adrenaline waned. What would it hurt to use the fruit to finally get some sleep? No one would need to know but Hook, so no one would need to worry about why she needed it. She might even have a better chance of finding Henry if she got some rest. 

Her fingers brushed against his warm palm as she carefully took one of the two halves, noticing a near-imperceptible twitch in his fingers as she pulled away. Emma looked up at him, grateful but afraid of showing it. 

Afraid?

No.

She could do better than that. 

She stepped outside of her walls, a quiet tremble in her voice because _god she’d needed something like this for days_. “Thank you.” 

The stars above them seemed reflected in his eyes as he nodded, a lock of dark hair falling across his forehead. 

Swallowing, she said, “Seriously. Thank you. For this—“ she gestured with her half of the fruit “—and, well, everything. I… I know you didn’t have to come with us, or stay with us. I know it would have been easier not to, so… thank you.” Her lips curled gently, needing no effort or entreaties, into a small smile. 

Scratching behind his ear with his hook, he nodded again, punctuating it with a half shrug as if it somehow wasn’t a big deal. “Truthfully, it was an easy choice to make, love.” 

They stood together for a moment, gazes boring deep into one another, breaths meeting in the few feet separating them. 

A bird chirped in the treetops above.

Emma startled, and felt herself slip back behind her fortifications. She turned away, reaching into her bag for a scrap of cloth to wrap the fruit in, and handed Hook one for his. 

A few awkward seconds passed before he spoke.

“I believe we’ve got enough food for tonight. Shall we head back before your parents send out a search party?” 

And just like that the awkwardness faded. 

She huffed a laugh through her nose. “Yeah. Let’s go.” 

Later that night, when Emma traded places with Hook as the first watch shifted into the second, he brushed against her elbow with the cool metal of his namesake. 

“Sleep well, Swan,” he murmured, with a tiny mischievous grin and the worst attempt at a wink she’d ever seen. Still, the way his lashes brushed against his cheeks was pretty nice. Not that she’d tell him that. 

The smile returned to her lips. “You too, Hook.”


End file.
